


One to blame

by noisette



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Off-screen Character Death, Post Avengers (Movie), Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 05:07:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/646910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noisette/pseuds/noisette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One brother had taken him by force and foraged inside his head with a desire to hurt, so it only seemed just that the other should be the one to put Clint back together again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One to blame

His voice had never sounded so cold. At least not as far as Clint could remember, which wasn't saying much. He regretted refusing her company the minute the words were out of his mouth. Natasha wouldn't have offered if she didn't want to join him. She wasn't just being kind. (Nat didn't do charity cases.)

Too late now. "I'm fine on my own" was the lonely bed he'd made and the lie of a lifetime. Tomorrow would leave room for psych evals. and field tests, for the debrief that Fury would have to run by shadowy higher-ups who'd probably recommend he be dishonorably discharged from the service ASAP. 

Worse still, there was absolutely nothing on TV. Coverage of the battle of New York, as it had been dubbed by the media, had taken over the airwaves. There were talking heads and on-the-ground reporters trudging through debris, political partisans of every nuance brushing off responsibility and demanding answers; even celebrities had begun to weigh in, mostly via Internet. Clint thumped his head against mahogany before he could hear one more tweet dissected by once-respectable journalists. 

He'd been on his feet since Loki took the tesseract and his body was aching for sleep. His mind, on the other hand, was perfectly happy running on fumes. It didn't help that as soon as he closed his eyes, Clint fell back into a blue-black darkness or that he still shivered despite the thermostat being turned to the mid-eighties. 

A knock on the door mercifully startled him awake before the shakes could get any worse. It was too heavy for Natasha, too quiet for SHIELD operatives come to terminate a compromised asset. At least, he hoped it was. The knock came again accompanied by a male voice haltingly calling his name. "Agent Barton? It is Thor."

Thor? Big blond guy who looked like the star quarterback of the weirdest NFL team ever? Clint hopped off the wardrobe and inched closer to the door.

"Agent Barton, may we speak?"

It didn't take a genius to guess what he might have to say. With some reluctance, Clint found himself unbolting the door and leaning on the handle to open it. In a normal-sized hotel hallway, Thor's broad-shouldered shtick really took the cake. No one should have looked like that, not after a goddamn war against aliens. (That they weren't aliens to Thor wasn't a thought Clint wanted to compute just then.) "What can I do for you?" he drawled, trying for nonchalance and falling well short. 

A housekeeper pushing her linen cart at the other end of the hall stopped at the sight of them. With the helicarrier in bad need of repair and Fury's decision-making under question, SHIELD had put them up in a civilian location but bought the whole damn floor for their comfort. Steve was a couple of doors down, Bruce even further in case the Other Guy should pay them a visit. No one had been surprised when Tony scoffed and said he'd be at his apartment on the Upper East Side, nor said anything when he came back about two hours later and strolled through the lobby to his room. The rest of them had nowhere else to go. 

Thor hesitated on the threshold. "May I come in?"

_He doesn't have the hammer_ , Clint noted vaguely, and somehow that seemed important, like Thor hadn't come here as a warrior but as a—what? They weren't friends. The first time Clint had seen him, he'd been battling through a throng of SHIELD operatives, doggedly determined to reach Mjolnir. His desperation when he couldn't lift the hammer stuck in memory, all but buried under all the vitriol Loki had poured into him—most of it jealousy and pain. 

There had been times since then that Clint had wondered if he would've shot Thor down at Coulson's command. He liked to think so, but then there was Natasha: living proof that sometimes Clint disobeyed direct orders. 

He opened the door wider for Thor and stepped back. "What do you need?" True to a lifetime of watching his step around strangers, Clint didn't turn his back on his guest, only watched with lukewarm trepidation as the Asgardian nudged the door closed behind him. It locked automatically. Loki had cost Clint his pride and his autonomy; he couldn't help wonder what Thor's price would be. (He recognized it was unfounded speculation.)"I can't promise Fury will give you your brother back," he blurted out by way of a preemptive strike. "Nothing's been decided and I'm not in the loop." For all the obvious reasons and just a few that might elude Thor and Clint both.

"I did not think you could." Thor canted his head into a sideways nod, glancing from Clint to the room around them. It was all beige wallpaper and a king sized bed, sheets unruffled and one of the pillows sunken in with the outline of his skull. Minus that imperfection, it probably looked a hell of a lot like Thor's.

"SHIELD doesn't believe in spoiling us," Clint found himself explaining. He'd never been a patient guy.

Thor's gaze finally shifted to meet his, something almost warm in the Asgardian's eyes. "I have always been treated with kindness by the people of Midgard. I am truly sorry that twice now you have suffered for my presence here... and sorrier still that you, Agent Barton, have paid the price for my brother's follies."

"Clint." A clearing of the throat, shoulders hitching up into a shrug. "We might as well be on first name basis; Loki's mindfuck got me up to speed on all the family drama." Doors, as Clint had once told Fury, opened from both sides. Loki wouldn't have been able to corrupt him half as efficiently if not for his psychotic willingness to pour all that grief and rage and perceived injustice into an unwilling vessel. 

Only Natasha knew about that—and now Thor, whose jaw dropped a little as he finally understood the extent of Loki's transgressions. 

"I am grieved," he said. "I am... You understand, then, that I am responsible. I cannot offer you his life," Thor hurried to add, "he is my brother and he must stand trial in Asgard, but for what he has done, amends must be made." 

"It's really not—"

Clint's breath died in his throat. Thor had dropped to his knees on the checkered carpet, his head bowed as solemnly as if this was his father's throne room and not a subpar hotel room on the outskirts of a rundown city. He only had to close his eyes to see what Loki had seen so often: that golden head so deserving of a crown, the broad shoulders sagging when the All-father pilled duty and undeserving praise upon them. Any predisposition to see him in a favorable light had been tainted by Loki's meddling. 

_To hell with that_. Clint reached for him with hands that ought to have been shaking. "Thor, dude... Get up. We're cool." They weren't and it wasn't, but Loki's voice was alive and well at the back of Clint's mind, compelling every earthling to kneel before him in fear and ersatz devotion. It was nothing he wanted from Thor. 

"You are owed," insisted the Asgardian. Clint wasn't sure how his hands came to be caught in broad palms, only that he could feel the muted strength in Thor's fists and knew then and there that a single twitch of effort could render him useless to the rest of team. Fear leapt into his throat almost at the same time as Thor's breath ghosted over his clenched knuckles. "Take your revenge from me, Agent. Clint. Let me stand for my brother's crimes—"

"No." Panic surged in Clint's veins like adrenaline. He realized that he only managed to retreat because Thor wasn't holding on very tightly, but even so... " _No_ ," he repeated. "What the hell's wrong with you?" 

"It is the way of Asgard to—"

"Guess what? We're not on Asgard." Clint backed up a pace. "I don't _want_ your amends." He felt like he knew, suddenly, what that might entail. His stomach clenched painfully, the air knocked out of him as though Thor had punched him in the gut. 

Loki's mind had provided intimate schooling in the less-than-noble ways of Asgard, assuming it was even Asgardian at all to offer something like that. 

Clint scrubbed a hand over his face. He'd left his bow and quiver in SHIELD custody, and his palms felt empty without it. "You should go," he sighed, trying to make his voice sure and confident and falling well short. 

He was nothing like Loki. He wouldn't be.

He watched Thor rise smoothly to his feet, incomprehension and distress vivid on his handsome face. "I have offended. It was not my intention..." His great, booming voice trailed off, reduced to a whisper. "Forgive me the intrusion. I will leave you, of course. I'm sorry..." The door handle clicked under the pressure of his massive fist. 

"Did you expect me to hurt you?" Clint hadn't meant to ask, or speak, or give vent to the thought, but there it was: silence had never been his friend.

Thor shook his head. "I had thought to offer you comfort, if it was within my power to give."

_Come to my room_ , Nat said before he shot her down. _If you want to stick around and watch some movies,_ Bruce invited softly. _I'm pretty sure we've got cable and Tony's building a still in his room._ And Steve said _I lost a friend once, too,_ trying to persuade him, but it was Thor who put his finger to the wound, still as a sentinel in the doorway, blocking Clint's exit. 

"Is that how Asgardians get over shellshock? You fuck like rabbits until everyone feels better?" The volley of questions wasn't exactly congruent with letting Thor walk away, but SHIELD hadn't hired Clint for his smarts. "He showed me the feasts, you know. Your brother? Some bacchanalias you used to have..."

Thor faced him slowly. He had no right to look so abjectly hurt. "I do not know that word," he confessed, "but Loki's mind would twist the purest love into something contemptible and crude. I have fought beside you and will again, Agent Barton. If you truly believe I mean you harm—"

Clint didn't think. He didn't let Loki's bitter memories drive him to distraction or panic get the better of him. Thor proved a yielding, warm body upon which to direct his force. Their lips met with a hard, jagged press of teeth, noses squished together because these things never worked out as smoothly in real life as they did in films. Well, almost never. When Coulson kissed—but Clint wasn't going to think of that. 

The Asgardian gave an aborted, stilted sound halfway between surprise and protest, yet his hands came up to curl around Clint's waist as the door clicked shut behind him once more.

It was a new experience to feel fragile in another man's arms, but Thor had at least a head on him in height and a biology teacher would've had a field day outlining muscle groups on his chiseled body. Not to mention the God of Thunder bit, or the fact that he could _fly_. All of which should've made Clint pull away and climb to the highest perch, but it turned out Thor was also a pretty decent kisser, which obliterated most of his other concerns. 

When they parted for breath at last, Clint's knees were weak and he discovered Thor was leaning into the door, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "You're not your brother," Clint said, biting the words off slowly to make sure he was understood. Blond brows knitted together tightly, a protest building in the Asgardian's throat. Clint anticipated it: "I mean, I know you're not him. I don't _want_ him."

He hadn't consciously thought about wanting Thor, either, but there was no revulsion associated, no powerful desire to flee. He nipped at kiss-swollen lips almost playfully, watching as Thor's eyes followed his mouth. He might have been _of Asgard, _but he was a warrior, too, grieving for the loss of his comrades and hurting with the blame he bore for Loki's misdeeds. They had that in common, at least. Didn't hurt that his hands found Clint's ass and pressed their hips into intimate contact, leaving little doubt as to how similar they were in their desires.__

__Clint canted his head back, exposing his neck to warm kisses and the rush of Thor's breath on his skin. He thought of Natasha and her offer, of Bruce and Steve, and Coulson who wouldn't offer anything ever again, and his vision misted as he gave himself over._ _

__Asgardians must have known a thing or two about coping with loss._ _

__Thor certainly knew his way around a man's body, liberating Clint out of his clothes with little pause and even less thought. Somehow, they ended up on the bed, mattress squeaking beneath their combined weight and Thor's body bearing down upon his. It might have been enough to crush him, but Clint wasn't brittle just because his bones felt hollow. He arched gracelessly into the Asgardian's kisses, pawing at his armor with little success. "Take it off," Clint begged, "God – please." He needed to feel flesh and skin against his, to know he was wanted, not just accommodated._ _

__Lips peeled back into a smile worthy of a toothpaste ad. "Let me show you how." For a man as morally upright as Thor, he seemed to have a pretty mischievous streak in him after all. His hands seized Clint's at the wrist. "There is a hook at the back of the nec, do you see? First unclasp that, then—here, the fastenings of the armor along the flanks, where I am weakest..." He went on in that vein, chasing every explanation with the guided tour of Clint's hands on his body, until at last the armor came off._ _

__Clint was hard and aching by that point and thrusting his hips ineffectually against Thor's inner thigh had him shuddering with need. "Please," he heard himself beg, his hand still clutched in the Asgardian's grasp. Shame roiled inside him. He'd never been in this position before, it made him feel weak and vulnerable, discomfort bubbling in his veins the more he lay there without room to move._ _

__"I would ride you into a realm of pleasure, if you permit me... but first," Thor murmured as he dipped low, his breath hot on Clint's cheek, "I should like to know your taste."_ _

__"Whatever you want," he gasped, because really, he wasn't in any position to refuse. His cock twitched and ached with no one to attend it, the mere suggestion of Thor's mouth— _wait._ Clint's thoughts skidded to a halt. Had Thor said _ride_? As in... Did Asgardians have another name for it, or did he really mean— _ _

__Linguistic anomalies became the least of his concerns as lips peppered kisses down his chest, closing sharply around the raised peak of a hardened nipple. Clint bucked, swearing, and freed a hand to tangle in Thor's golden hair. There were moments when he felt like he was fucking Rapunzel, if Rapunzel happened to be two hundred pounds of muscle and clever tongue intent on stealing his breath away. Which, no. Not so much._ _

__Thor's talented mouth drifted south over the sloped ridge of his ribcage and the latticework of ancient scars still visible on his skin. Clint forgot to feel ashamed or worried and embraced anticipation, instead. He was right; the first tentative flick of tongue to his cock very nearly had him coming right there. He dug his fingers into Thor's hair, relaxing just as quickly when he realized he was pulling—then tightening once more at the unsubtle press of teeth into the meat of his thigh. Thor was a hard man; it made sense he'd want to feel the effect he was having on a lover. Clint obliged gladly, for all that he could barely think straight as he watched those full lips mouth along his dick._ _

__It was like being kissed and fondled and sucked at the same time, an almost academic experience of trial and error that only ceased when Thor finally dipped his head to suck Clint's balls into his mouth one at the time. Clint was sure he cried out, then, or else there was someone else in the room making such embarrassing sounds and demanding that Thor not stop as if his life depended on it. Apparently loving Doctor Foster didn't preclude an intimate knowledge of how to blow a man into submission; Thor had that part down pat. When he glanced up, grinning, Clint didn't know if to thank him, curse him or beg for more._ _

__"You are most vocal in your pleasure, Clint," said Thor. "It gives me great satisfaction to hear you."_ _

__"Yeah?" There was a stupid smile on his face; he wasn't yet fucked out, but he felt like it, as if whatever Asgardian magic Thor had worked affected more than just his addled brain. "I'd get great satisfaction from returning the favor."_ _

__To Clint's great pride, Thor actually shuddered at that, brazenly palming himself through his pants. "I should like that very much... Perhaps another time?"_ _

__"Sure. Uh, why?"_ _

__"I intend to have you now," Thor explained and finished undressing while Clint watched, his courage dropping into his stomach with the force of a boulder sinking to the bottom of a well. Thor was big, bigger than most men Clint had ever been with, and his size wasn't much of a turn on. It turned out that he was proportional in every sense, down to the hard, veined length of his cock curling against his belly thick, flushed like a vicious weapon._ _

__The thought of taking that thing inside him had Clint balking. "Uh... I don't have anything," he breathed, scrabbling for a way to refuse without spoiling the moment. He'd liked Thor's mouth on him; he was willing to try to suck him off, even if he only managed to get a quarter of that cock into his mouth. It would take long minutes of prep before he'd ever be ready to put it anywhere else inside of him._ _

__Thor's fingers cupped his cheek, a gentle touch from a man whom Nature seemed to have built for the reverse. "Do not worry. I prepared myself before coming to you." He seemed to flush a little. "You could say I was being presumptuous..."_ _

__What Clint said, instead, was "oh. _Oh_ —you mean you want me to... But I thought, you said. Didn't that mean—"_ _

__"I have shared pleasure with many men," Thor boasted, "and regret nothing of the pleasure I have felt at their hands."_ _

__"Sounds like I've got a lot of competition."_ _

__"Think of it as incentive," said the Asgardian as he rose up onto his knees. His fist seized Clint's spit-slick cock. "Or do not think of it at all. You are memorable, Agent. Friend, ah—" Thor tossed his head back as he lined them up and began to sink down on Clint's prick._ _

__Clint's hands found his flanks, holding him there though Thor had apparently chosen to do most of the work. While he wasn't anywhere close to Thor's girth, he'd never been anxious about his size and he'd never worried that it might not be sufficient to please a lover. He watched Thor take his cock in a single, infernally slow stroke, warmth enveloping him until Clint thought he might explode from the sheer sensory overload. He fought to unclench his fingers from Thor's flesh, but it was no good; his body wasn't his anymore. He didn't want it to be._ _

__One brother had taken him by force and foraged inside his head with a desire to hurt, so it only seemed just that the other should be the one to put Clint back together again. Nature was all about duality and simple answers to not-so-simple predicaments._ _

__"I can't," Clint bit out, his eyes prickling with tears as he struggled to remain still under Thor's body. He was pinned and cocooned in the other man's heat, one breath away from losing his mind, when Thor clenched around him, rising a full inch and dropping back down again. "Fuck—" It was better than being sucked off, though that was nothing to scoff at, and also so much worse, because Clint didn't have the range to get in a thrust of his own or the concentration to give back even a fraction of the pleasure he felt._ _

__He seized Thor's cock in his fist, barely circling the head one-handed as Thor worked himself to ecstasy in a rhythm of his own devising. Watching him should've been enough, but touching his warm, hard length had Clint trying desperately to hang on. "Jesus, you're hot," he heard himself mumble, laughter torn from his lungs on the cusp of hysteria. "You like that, huh? Oh, Christ, don't you fucking stop—"_ _

__Profanity was nothing to the moans Thor offered him in exchange, his eyes squeezed tightly shut as he pursued pleasure with a single-minded focus. It made him think of Natasha in the field, or Steve when he undertook to meet Loki in battle even if grossly outnumbered._ _

__It made a flash of memory creep through hazy thoughts; a vision of watching Coulson over a room service spread in a hotel room in Ankara, the morning light almost blinding where it reflected off the paperwork strewn around him on the sheets. _I thought we said no distractions,_ Clint sighed, still wet from the shower in what he'd hoped would be a tempting ruse. Coulson never even looked up from the page he was reading. _We're flying to New York in three hours._ Clint's face fell, hand dropping from the towel around his waist. So much for vacation; thirteen hours was the most downtime they'd had in six months. _We still have three hours,_ Coulson said, as if reading his mind. _Just let me finish this..._ _ _

__Thor's lips were on his temple, the broad expanse of his body blanketing Clint. "My friend," he was saying. "My friend." Clint turned his head just so and their lips slotted together in a strangely chaste kiss._ _

__They were both coming back to themselves: Thor shuddering with the aftermath of his climax and Clint still straining as he teetered on the edge, with another lover on his mind. It should have felt like he was betraying Thor with his inattention, but something told him that Jane Foster was never far from the Asgardian's thoughts. They were soldiers and they were made up of those who'd loved them; death didn't change that._ _

__"Can I—" Clint started and felt Thor nod against his shoulder. He only managed to roll them over with the other man's help, spreading Thor's legs wider with his knees and picking up the pace of his thrusts. He wanted to follow him, to rip out the seeds of doubt that Loki had planted within him like weeds from a flower bed; he wanted to see Thor when he came, that beautiful, golden grin and his cock softening between their bellies, his kind eyes—_ _

__He got his wish only moments later, buried deep within Thor and smothering cries against his lips. They held each other tightly, sharing the burn and the heat and the unraveling._ _

__Thor eased him onto his back on the sheets as they separated, but didn't move away. Clint had never been a fan of people who clung and cuddled after sex, but this didn't really qualify. This wasn't a one night stand; Coulson hadn't been one, either. "I think I'm, ah, coming around to the Asgardian way of, you know, unwinding," Clint quipped, or tried to, as his breaths still knifed in and out of his lungs. "You, uh..."_ _

__"That was most enjoyable," Thor said softly, his palm covering Clint's heart. "You are a talented lover... He was very lucky."_ _

__A shard of dread slashed through the post-orgasmic afterglow. "What?" Had he said something? Mumbled Coulson's name, by any chance?_ _

__"Your lover," Thor answered far too gently to be a rebuke. "The one you lost? You need not speak his name if you do not wish... but know that I would be honored to listen."_ _

__"I don't—" _know how._ But that wasn't true, not really. He might not have known how to play the civilian or face SHIELD after shooting up half the helicarrier, but he knew how to talk about Coulson. Clint coughed, intent on dislodging the treacherous sob that might have wanted to slither into his voice. "You have to go back to Asgard, don't you?" Thor nodded against his shoulder, the prick of fine stubble catching against skin. "And you want to spend the time we've got left talking about another man?"_ _

__Thor looked at him as if the answer should have been obvious. "He is on your mind. I treasure that which my friend loves."_ _

__Clint let his eyes droop shut. "Okay. Okay, well..."_ _

__

___fin_ _ _


End file.
